The Liberian

Chapter 33

He’s dangerous and silver-tongued. Don’t give him an opportunity to weave you into some scheme, Halle.”

“I would like to return to the servants’ halls now,” she said with a quiet firmness that she didn’t know her voice capable of.

The prince stared at her for a long moment. He implied that Damion would weave her into a scheme, but Halle only felt skeptical about the man standing before her. She resisted fidgeting—barely—but didn’t like the knowing glint in his eyes.

“I’ll give you a fake name,” he said finally. She couldn’t believe he was still persisting with this insane plot. “No one will know who you are under the powder, gown, and hairdo.”

Halle shifted her feet and braced herself to object a second time.

“It will likely be the last night before my brother and I return to the front,” Prince Baldair revealed, shattering her resolve.

The last night before Damion would leave was the Gala, tomorrow. She looked toward a far corner of the room, churning this over in her head. That was it, all the time they would have together. No matter how much she wanted to refuse the prince before her, a question remained: What if she had no other chance to see Damion?

“You’re sure it won’t be a problem?” she finally asked the waiting prince.

“No one will be wise to who you are.” Baldair nodded. “Unless you think my brother will tell.”

Halle looked askance at the prince and swore she heard a soft chuckle.

“And if people found out?” She shifted her weight uneasily from foot to foot.

“No one will.” It wasn’t the answer she had been looking for, but it was the best she was going to get.

“All right. If you wish to bestow this upon me as a secret thanks, my prince, then I shall accept it.” Halle gave him a resolute nod.The prince smiled, and she noticed that where Damion’s smiles were small and normally just a turn of the corners, the Heartbreaker Prince’s moved in a beautiful symmetry.

“First then,” the prince extended a hand to her. “We dance.”

SHE DID NOT have time to object before the prince had half-pulled, half-picked her up and led Halle into the center of the room. It was immediately obvious by the first turn that she had no clue what she was doing—her foot landed on top of his toes. The prince laughed, assuring her that her dainty feet could not harm him.

Halle did not enjoy dancing at first. It was awkward and it made her feel ignorant, an emotion that she generally resented and avoided at all costs. But the prince was a surprisingly gentle and encouraging instructor.

“You need to relax,” he soothed.

Halle was very aware of his palm on her hip. “Why are we doing this again?” she mumbled.

“What do you think people do at a Gala?” With a toss of his head, he cast aside a chin-length blonde lock.

“I wouldn’t know.” Halle was stubbornly focused on her footwork, conversation was secondary.

“We dance.” The prince laughed. He took a step back and twirled her again. This time Halle understood that an extension of the arm meant she was to turn and, while she was not graceful, she did not trip. “You’re getting it.”

“Barely,” she muttered, her eyes still on her feet.

Once she had grasped one infuriating step where they were supposed to glide across the floor in each other’s arms, they moved onto a group-style dance that Halle’s feet had a significantly easier time with. She had grown up going to harvest festivals in a neighboring town, and all the common folk knew the simple four-step that was a variation of this dance.

The prince praised her quick learning, and Halle kept the source of her abilities behind a small smile. After that, the Heartbreaker Prince began to have an easier time earning smiles from her.

If she did well, he would squeeze her hand. When her eyes finally lifted away from her haphazard movements, she was rewarded with a wink. Slowly, under the prince’s hand and earnest encouragement, Halle began to enjoy herself.

It was a different kind of enjoyment than what she felt when she was around Damion. This feeling lacked the tension or twitching to break through the skin that felt with Damion. This was simpler. It was as though the golden prince wore everything on his sleeves, and his cerulean eyes promised nothing but the truth. Halle stumbled when his lips barely brushed against her cheek.

“You’re beautiful, you know,” the prince whispered thoughtfully.

“I am not.” Halle looked away, but their proximity did nothing to hide her hot flush.

“You are, and I wish to ensure everyone will see it at the Gala.” Sliding his palms down her forearms, the prince stepped away from her with a squeeze of his fingers.

Halle’s heart was beating a bit harder than normal from the dancing.

The prince pulled a bell cord by the door, and a servant arrived a moment later. The prince engaged in a series of low-voiced orders that meant nothing to Halle. Sensing she was not intended to hear the conversation, she wandered to the massive windows that consumed the opposite wall.

The panorama was magnificent. The afternoon sun had the world ablaze, and she could almost feel the palpable joy of every fluttering festival pennon dancing on the breeze in the city far below. Streamers that hung from windows and were posted upon rooftops made the Capital glitter.

Halle gave a wistful sigh.

“What’s wrong?”

She hadn’t heard the prince return to her side. “Nothing.” Halle took a quarter step away, overwhelmed by his abrupt appearance at the end of her thoughts.

“Ah, Halle,” he hummed thoughtfully. “I know when a woman says nothing it is always something.”

“I don’t want the festival to end,” she confessed softly.

“And why is that?” There was a knowing glint to his eye.

“No reason.” Halle shook her head, and the brief image of Damion vanished.

“The festival is a magical time,” Prince Baldair agreed, following her gaze over the city. “Do you know anything of magic, Halle?”

She looked up in surprise, his eyes catching hers again. The prince’s mouth swept up into a smile that made Halle uneasy. He knew something; he’d put things together too easily for her liking. Halle’s words began to fail her and she was saved only by the door opening.

Prince Baldair asked nothing more about magic for the rest of the afternoon. Halle quickly forgot he’d asked in the first place as bolts of silk, velvet, cashmere, chiffon, fur, and fabrics she couldn’t name were carried into the room by a small entourage of servants. Once more Halle attempted to keep her face down, but it did little good as her curiosity got the better of her.

At the end of the entourage a portly, balding man strolled in as though he owned the entire palace. The prince introduced him as Chater. Halle shook his hand in a daze, the hand of the man who was the founder of the most prestigious clothing shop in all of the South. He looked her up and down.

Before she could ask a question, the fabrics she had lusted over moments prior were being held up against her skin to assess her complexion. Halle stood dumbly, a living model for the men surrounding her, prattling on about the Gala. It was the lilac silk on her cheek that finally pulled her out of her daze.

“Black,” Halle said suddenly, unaware she just interrupted the famous couture designer standing before her.

“Pardon?” The rotund man was startled into silence at her sudden interjection.

“I want something black.” Halle followed the thought that had possessed her to its logical conclusion.

“My lady, black is not a customary color for a gala.” Chater frowned.

Halle brought her fingers together, picking at her nails. She wasn’t a lady. Even though she had discarded her apprentice robes for the festival, she was certain Chater knew it also.

“Well, I suppose that, if it’s improper...” she mumbled. Halle glanced away wondering if Damion would be wearing black. She couldn’t imagine him dressed up like a peacock, even if it was a gala.

“Now, about the purples. They’re very Eastern, your complexion...you are from the East, right?” Chater was back to rummaging through bolts of cloth.

“Let her wear what she pleases,” Prince Baldair said suddenly.

“My prince—”

“It’ll be a special night, and the lady here has someone she wants to impress, I’m sure.” Cerulean eyes caught hers, and Halle could do nothing more than swallow.

“Well, I will need to get additional fabric,” Chater said uneasily, keen on the fact that his companions had some unspoken communication.

Halle’s eyes followed the round man out of the room, until the muscled form of the prince broke her vision.

“Halle,” Prince Baldair spoke softly.

“My prince?” she whispered. Just like the last time, his palm was on her cheek before she was even aware of the movement of his arm.

“Chater is right, it is unconventional for a gala,” he noted thoughtfully.

“How unconventional is black?” Halle made no motion away from the prince’s touch.

Very.” She was vaguely aware of his thumb moving over her cheek as he spoke. “Halle, you’re a pretty girl, you know. You don’t need to go down the unconventional road to be noticed. Good men will notice you without all that, the men you want to be noticed by. I’m sure good men have already noticed you.”

“I-it’s not that,” her voice wavered. Halle struggled to find an explanation.

“I will show you.” The golden-haired prince smiled encouragingly. “You can have your black, but I will be the one who shows you how dazzling you are.”

The designer returned, and Halle’s face flushed red hot as the prince made no haste in removing his hands from her person. She took a chaste step away. Chater was unbothered by what he had seen and continued to talk on about silhouettes and skirts. Halle found herself focusing more on the prince’s easy smiles and his input during the process than the designing. What men did he think would be noticing her?

When Chater left, the sky was ablaze and she was uncertain what dress had been designed for her.

“Now remember, Halle,” Prince Baldair offered her his elbow. She took it and they started for the door. “Come back to the servants’ entrance around noon tomorrow. I’ll have someone there ready to help you prepare.”

“My prince, that isn’t necessary,” she denied with a shake of her head.

“It most certainly is!” Prince Baldair chuckled. “You don’t think I’d put you in a Chater dress and have your hair and makeup be left undone, do you?”

“No, of course not...” Halle’s free hand went up to her head, feeling the frizzy mass that was her hair.

“Don’t fret, you’ll be beautiful.” The prince smiled, his hand on the door latch. “Just remember to save a dance for me when every man of the Court is begging to be your partner.”

“I doubt that will happen.” Halle laughed, looking up at her companion with a light smile.

“Then I have a dance?” Prince Baldair asked again, as they stepped into the hallway.

“You’ve already had one.” Halle’s lips pressed together in a little grin.

“Another?” He leaned closer to her.

“How could I refuse?” She laughed lightly, beginning to grow more accustomed to his proximity and casual nature.

The prince’s footsteps paused, and Halle’s gaze swung forward. Standing little more than five steps across the hall was a tall silhouette that made her jaw slack. She felt Prince Baldair’s bicep tighten under her palm, trapping it. Damion’s eyes flicked from her to the golden-haired man at her side.